Fantastical Ramblings (17 page)

“I... um... don’t know your customs well enough to do ought
else, so I’ve come to ask your permission to marry your widowed sister Miriam,”
he said all in one breath.

“No.” Simon refused to meet his gaze.

“What do you mean ‘no’!” Wilfred exploded, half-standing in
anger.

“You are not one of us and never can be.”

Wilfred settled back into place, prepared to match Simon’s
arguments with logic. “Miriam can become a Christian. I’ll sponsor her baptism.”

“Never!” Simon half rose in anger.

“Then I’ll ask Miriam directly. Certainly she has a say in
the matter,” Wilfred’s tone turned as icy as the weather.

“Our women are sacred. We take our lineage through the
mother. Any children Miriam births will be Jews, even if she becomes a
Christian,” Simon insisted.

“Miriam!” Wilfred called into the back rooms, still eyeing
Simon levelly.

She appeared from behind the curtain to the inner portions
of the tall and narrow house. “Must I settle another political argument between
you two?” She stood with her hands on her rounded hips, a lovely wisp of dark
hair peeking from beneath her wimple. She wore knitted gloves with the fingers
cut off to keep her hands warm while she worked with the other women of the
household.

Wilfred jumped to his feet and gathered those hands in his
own. “Miriam, forgive my bluntness. I have asked your brother for your hand in
marriage. He refuses because I am not a Jew. I believe that we can overcome the
differences of faith. I love you, Miriam.” He bent his head a little, expecting
her to reach up and meet him for a kiss, a pledge of their love.

She stayed put and he had to bend further forward to capture
her lips in his own. He found her willing enough, meeting him with gentleness
if not outright enthusiasm.

“I would be proud to be your wife, Wilfred of Kirkenwood. But
I must remain a Jew. I must marry a Jew.” She pulled away from him reluctantly.

“There is a way for you to become a Jew, Wilfred,” Simon
said quietly. “But this is something you must not enter into lightly. This is
more than a matter of upbringing and lineage. This is a matter of true faith.”

Standing so close to Miriam, holding her hands, seeing her
breasts rise with each breath, Wilfred could not think beyond possessing her,
body, soul, and mind.

“Teach me what it means to be a Jew,” he said. “Teach me so
that I might believe.”

“Before you can marry you must attest your faith. You must
submit to the extreme ritual of circumcision, to mark you as one of the Chosen,”
Simon said.

Wilfred turned his head to face his friend, still holding
Miriam’s hands. His own fingers grew icy and his palm moist. “But... but... isn’t
that done only to young children?”

His manhood shrank and he instinctively held his thighs
closer together.

“It is Jewish law. Only those circumcised can be Jews.”

Wilfred gulped and looked back to Miriam. She lifted her
eyes to meet his, troubled and hesitant.

He needed to be with her, protect her, grow old with her,
father her children.

He’d seen it in a vision. He would marry her.

“I’ve never been a good Christian. I think too much and
disagree with the Church at every turn. Teach me to be a Jew.”

“There is more. You will lose your place at Merton College. Your
family will denounce you. You will be subject to the king’s onerous taxes upon
us to fund his military campaigns, his mistresses, and his jewels. If he cannot
tax us he will demand we loan him money we no longer have. He has bled us dry. We
dare not hope that he will ever repay any of his loans.”

“I have no money for him to tax or to loan. He cannot
squeeze blood out of a turnip, though he will try. The boneheads at Merton
College do not deserve my wisdom. As for my family...” He had to swallow deeply
and blink back a tear. He didn’t know his nephew well, but he trusted the young
man to guard the family honors and their heritage well. “My family has little
use for me or my piddling talents. They nearly turned their backs upon me when
I took myself off to Paris to study.”

“You must renounce your ‘piddling’ talents and never use
them again. You might defy the Church by your little magical tricks and
experiments with alchemy, but we will not brook such defiance. Should you use
your magic again, you will be driven from our community and your marriage to
Miriam dissolved. She will be as a widow, your children orphans.”

Now Miriam pleaded with him with her eyes and the firm grip
of her fingers.

“How did you know about that?” Wilfred asked Simon.

“All of Oxford knows you dabble in alchemy. All of Oxford
has seen you light the way through our dark streets with a ball of cold flame
in your hands.”

“‘Tis a hard thing to give up my magic. But for Miriam I
will do it. Teach me to be a Jew.”

And so his instruction began. They taught him the law. They
taught him the Torah and the Talmud. He learned to speak the ancient prayers,
he learned to eat the proper foods in the proper combinations. He learned to
wear a cap and prayer shawl.

He learned to love Miriam more with each passing day. She
tutored him, she held his hand, she loved him in return.

Six weeks later Wilfred of Kirkenwood sat down with his new
family for the Passover feast. As the newest member of the family he took the
part of the child and asked the questions of the Simon, the eldest. Why is this
night special? Why do we drink this wine? Why do we eat bitter herbs? Why do we
sing these songs? He knew the answers now, knew the stories, the history, and
yet he felt as if he learned them all over again. Tears of joy and beauty
filled his eyes.

Then all the family stood, each with a cup of wine and said
together, “Next year in Jerusalem!”

Suddenly the room tilted and he saw the temple on the mount,
sun baked brick, coarse roof tiles. He felt the sun upon his back and smelled
the dust of centuries.

“Wilfred! What ails you?” Miriam clutched his arm and his
face.

He looked down upon her worried countenance. Her eyes
cleared when he smiled. “Next year we
will
be in Jerusalem,” he replied.

“You cannot know this, my friend,” Simon said. He too looked
worried. “For centuries, all the Jews who have endured exile from our homeland
have made this pledge of hope. Rarely do the Chosen return to their homeland. Rarely
are we allowed to travel so far.”

“I may have renounced my magical powers, but they have not
renounced me. I have had a vision. A true vision. Next year we will celebrate
the Passover in Jerusalem,” he said with authority.

The rest of the family shook their heads and murmured in
dismay.

The weather warmed at last. Spring and summer came to
England in damp glory. Flowers bloomed, crops sprouted. Wilfred’s students
ceased coughing.

At the end of term, Wilfred resigned his position at Merton
college and moved in with Simon. The day before he was to undergo the painful
but essential circumcision he received a letter sealed with heavy red wax and
many dangling ribbons. The king himself, Edward Plantagenet, summoned him to
court to answer for his treasonous and blasphemous intentions.

Reluctantly, Wilfred made his way to London. Alone. Without
the solace of Miriam at his side.

At Windsor Castle, a page showed Wilfred into a private
solar where King Edward, called Longshanks, and Lord Griffin of Kirkenwood
studied a map of Gascony, where Edward had campaigned last year. Griffin’s
wolfhound familiar rested by the hearth. She lifted her great head and gave a
woof of greeting. Then she settled again, satisfied that her master was safe.

“Our Pendragon wishes you to return to the family fold,”
Edward said as soon as the page had announced Wilfred and then withdrawn.

“I have no quarrel with my family. ’Tis they who have
refused me access to Kirkenwood and the loving embrace of my relatives,”
Wilfred replied.

The wolfhound opened one eye and seemed to stare at him in
doggy mirth.

Wilfred winked back at her. They understood each other.

“If you have no quarrel with the family, why have you
rejected us and God to become a Jew?” Griffin shouted. For a man of little more
than twenty, he usually carried himself with better authority and dignity. His
face purpled with anger and he pounded the map table until it shook. The map
scooted free of its restraints and re-rolled with a snap.

The wolfhound lifted her head once more, alert to her master’s
moods.

“I follow my heart and my faith. The Jews offer me what the
rest of England cannot,” Wilfred said simply.

“The Jews have refused to loan Us necessary funds to pay for
Our campaign in Gascony or for Our forthcoming crusade,” Edward said in an icy
tone. “We can only presume that you have influenced the entire Jewish community
to this decision with the magic inherent in your family.”

“There is no more money in the Jewish coffers, Your
Highness. We cannot loan what we do not possess.”

“The Jews own property they could sell to raise the funds.”

“They did that last year and the year before. We now possess
little more than the clothes upon our backs and the synagogues that no
Christian will purchase. We have sold our houses and crowd in together until we
have no more room to share.” Wilfred held firm. “If you had ever repaid any of
the loans, then perhaps there would be money to lend you once more.”

Edward’s face grew as enraged as Griffin’s. “How dare you
question your anointed monarch!” he shouted.

Griffin and Edward continued to shout and berate Wilfred and
all of the Jews in England. They heaped blame upon them for every ill from the
homeless outlaws that ranged throughout the country to the terrible winter and
poor harvests, to the diseases that had felled many during the bad weather.

Wilfred kept his mouth shut. He could say nothing more
without further complicating the situation.

“Will you renounce your Jewish connections and seek penance
from the Church?” Edward finally asked.

“No. I have chosen to worship God according to the old and
original ways of the Bible.”

“Blasphemy!” Griffin declared.

“Then you give Us no choice,” Edward said proudly. “Since
the Jews can no longer meet Our needs, then every Jew in England, including you,
Wilfred of Kirkenwood, has until the first of November to convert to
Christianity or face exile from this land.”

Wilfred gulped. Never to see England again? He had given
everything he was, everything he valued to become a Jew so that he could marry
Miriam. Was she worth it?

A new peace settled on his shoulders. He had gained more
than he had given up. More than Miriam. More than faith.

He had gained his rightful place in history and among the
community of the Chosen.

“Please reconsider, Your grace,” Wilfred said quietly. “The
Jews offer more to England than just loans of money to you and your nobles.”

“Our mind is made up. The official pronouncement will follow
you to Oxford within the week. You are dismissed.”

“Think carefully on this, Your Highness.”

“Get out of Our sight! Get out of Our kingdom!”

“If you do this, Edward Plantagenet, then you are not worthy
to be king.” Wilfred’s body began to shake as the words spilled out of him. He
could not control the pronouncement if he wanted to.

“You deprive England of one of its most valuable resources,”
he continued. “You deprive England of doctors and scholars and goldsmiths as
well as money lenders. You deprive England of honor. You are pledged to protect
the Jews. Now you break faith with your Coronation oaths and the Magna Carta
signed by your grandfather John and reaffirmed by your father, Henry III.”

He had to stop speaking before Edward arrested him for
treason. He had to stop.

The words kept rolling out of his mouth with the authority
of all of his ancestors combined. All of his ancestors going back to King
Arthur and to his Merlin. They spoke through him. They needed his voice and his
mind to show England the vision and prophecy of their kind.

“If you do this, Edward Plantagenet then never again will
England have a king worthy of the name Arthur. England will forget and take a
long time relearning that law, justice, and peace work; that honor, truth, and
promises kept mean something. England will suffer for this heinous act. Your
enemies will gain.”

“So be it,” Griffin echoed, also with the weight of prophecy
in his voice. “Never again will the likes of King Arthur rule this land. Never
again will a king of England carry that beloved name.” He bowed his head sadly.

Wilfred left England along with his bride Miriam, his new
brother-in-law Simon, and the rest of the family within days of the Royal
Decree. They did indeed celebrate the next Passover in Jerusalem.

England never again in over seven hundred years has had a
king named Arthur.

~THE END~

Here’s another story that sprang from the world of
Merlin’s Descendants
. Fans of the series
should recognize some character names and of course, the beloved wolfhounds.

<<>>

“You see this line on your palm?” the old Gypsy woman
rasped through a fog of incense in the shadowy carnival tent. She shook her
head and closed her eyes. A pained expression crossed her weathered and lined
face.

Gabrielle Whythe peered closer at her hand. Her arm ached
from holding it stretched across the round table for so long. The light was so
dim in the carnival tent that she could barely make out the damask pattern of
moons and stars in the red tablecloth. Filmy curtains resembling brightly
colored cob webs draped about, adding to the light diffusion.

Outside she could hear her dorm mates giggling. They’d each
taken a turn at having their fortune told at the Beltane Renaissance Fair that
erupted on campus every May. Gabby hadn’t cared about the mixture of
physiological profiling and mystic fakery. But the other three girls had dared
her.